


Water on Air

by esama



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why his father bothered being surprised when he went to sea, William wasn't sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water on Air

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net in 03/31/2012  
> Proofread by Darlene and Tsuyuhime

1.

Why his father bothered being surprised when Will went to sea, he wasn't sure. Everyone else, from his mother to his distant cousin, whom he had only met once, to all their neighbours and vague acquaintances, knew that it was only a matter of time. Ever since he’d first made water bend to his will at the age of three, it had been expected. After all, most all male waterbenders went to the sea. It was only a matter of course.

Still, his father kept his strict hopes up to the bitter end, and even went so far as to drag Will back the first time he managed to run away and very nearly make his way onto a ship, more a stowaway than a volunteer. What followed were days and weeks of lectures about lineage and birth and how no son of Lord Allendale would do anything as lowly as becoming a _naval officer_ , no matter what _abilities_ or _wishes_ that son might have had. Honestly, couldn't Will just let go of his foolish fascination with water – or if not, couldn't he content himself with brooks and ponds? There were plenty of those around, and there was no need for him to actually go to the sea.

"There have never been any benders in his family," Lady Allendale confided in Will after one of those long, long sermons that had, understandably, done very little to curb Will's longing for the vast, vast bodies of water. "He doesn't quite understand the way an element can take you."

Her great-great-grandmother had been a waterbender, she told him, as well as a few distant aunts and uncles. She’d never expected any of her children or children's children to inherit the ability, not after it hadn’t been seen for so long in her particular line. Neither of William's elder brothers had ever shown any inclination for the elements, either. But everyone knew these things could skip as many as ten generations and appear out of nowhere, and often be all the more powerful for it.

She would've liked to help him with the bending, he knew that from the beginning, and she did what she could. She told him the old family legends about her great-great-grandmother, Patience Wilcox, who’d been quite a powerful bender, and one of the most renowned healers of her time. She’d even been known to be called to help Mary the Second when she had fallen ill. She also told him what little she knew of her grand aunts and uncles and their bending, but there wasn't much to tell. She’d not heard many stories, only that they’d been benders and that some of her uncles had been passionate fishermen, but none of them had gone to the Navy.

She had once known a waterbender, however, when she was younger. A young girl who’d lived in her neighbourhood, quite popular and always doing tricks with water, making it float and shift, and sometimes going as far as giving some of the local boys a dousing when they made a nuisance of themselves. But, alas, they’d lost contact years ago, and she couldn't tell what had become of her – she couldn't even remember her name.

Will thought, at times, that she told those stories to try and perhaps satisfy his urge to go, to point out that there were other bodies of water and perhaps he would rather content himself with the pond and the brook. But there was no satisfaction there. By the age of nine, Will could bend the water entirely out of the small pond, and he desperately longed to do more, to move more, to feel more. And after having seen and heard and _felt_ the sea the few times his father had been forced to bring him to one port town or another, he couldn't imagine that anything else would suit. So much water! And the Navy could do so much with it – they could even create _currents_ , something he'd never managed with the meagre pond water.

It was expected that he'd run away, and he'd succeeded. It was only a matter of time, really. His mother, despite her softer, kinder attempts to hold him back, knew it. His brothers, who in secret packed his bags and then sent what he couldn't carry by mail carriage, knew it. Even the neighbour, who’d been kind enough to carry him in his private carriage, knew it. Why his father was so shocked, Will never really knew.

Though he did wonder, who was the one who spoke in his favour to Captain Mountjoy, who took him in as a midshipman? His mother, he suspected at first – except for the fact that his mother didn't really know the Captain. But then there was the sea, so _much_ of the sea, and then he was under the ship's bending master to learn how to raise a wave and how to hold water, how to freeze it and heat it and lift it up and douse the sails, eventually even how to hold back the water leaking in through the cracks of the ship's planks, and there was no time to do more than learn, learn, learn.

 2.

As a rule, there were more waterbenders in the Navy than anywhere else, but they also welcomed, very _gladly_ welcomed, airbenders. There were very few of those, and most of them were always taken up by second and first rates, with only the very rare third rate managing to keep a hold of one. After all, an airbender’s prospects in the Navy weren't quite as good as those of a waterbender. All navy captains were, as a matter of course, waterbenders. Airbenders, however, could rarely make it pass Lieutenant – with the highest rank they could achieve being that of Master and Commander, a sloop of war at most for their first and last command.

The first airbender whom Will – by that time growing more adjusted to being addressed as Laurence, or Mr. Laurence – met was the one on board the HMS Steadfast, Captain Mountjoy's vessel, some two years after joining the Navy. The HMS Steadfast was a second rate, but one mostly on blockade and patrol duty over the channel, and thus hadn't been granted an airbender until that point. And until that time, Laurence had not quite understood the value of the wind under a ship's command, rather than the reverse.

Of course, a waterbender could move a ship in the calm, but it was an arduous, tiring task and it took no less than four waterbenders working in unison to move a ninety gun ship up the line, and even then the movement was often slow. It only took a single airbender to manage the same, and with much better results –no ship could weather the calms quite like a dragon transport on duty, the only type of ship ever likely to carry as many as a dozen airbenders at a time.

Waterbending was the most effective way of waging war over the sea, of course. A waterbender could not only move a ship, but also freeze it, and there was no boarding party quite like one led by a waterbender, who could make a dash over as long as a quarter mile of the ocean, creating a frozen path for himself and for his men. Naturally, the waterbenders on-board enemy ships would do their all to prevent such occasions, to stop the opposing waterbenders from holding them or boarding them, but rare was the boarding action led by a waterbender that did not reach the enemy ship.

But there was something to be said about having the wind in one's command.

After having met Lieutenant Carver, however, Laurence got the impression that there was another reason as to why airbenders never managed to reach post rank in the Navy – there was a quality to them, a sort of distant mischievousness, which made them ill-suited to commanding a sailing vessel.

"There are personality types to every bender," his bending master had taught him very early on. "You will find that you and your fellow benders are set apart from people with no bending abilities not only by what you do, but by your natural personality traits. A bender is one with his element, and thus a waterbender is like water, and a waterbender accustomed to the sea is like the sea he is accustomed to."

Which was very much true. Waterbenders rose and descended with the tide and lived by the moon: they could be deadly calm and never stir for days or they could be as ferocious as the sea in the storm – and indeed, they could be like the storm and the rain, and like the mist. Airbenders, however, were much like the air, and there was always a certain unpredictability to air, and to wind. Very few waterbenders, Laurence found early on, were playful. The sea could be treacherous, kind, and lethal, but rarely playful. But wind was the element that made the leaves rustle and the wheat wave.

Wind was also what created typhoons and monsoons.

Mr. Carver was an odd mixture of gusts of temper and serenity – not the sort of listlessness that sometimes struck waterbenders, but pure tranquillity which people told Laurence was almost oriental in nature. But more than that, Mr. Carver was, indeed, playful. He would rattle the ropes just for the sound and the amusement or irritation of his fellow sailors, and make the sails billow and slacken when the captain wasn't on deck. He never put the wind off course, naturally not, as he was still a navy officer and a strict one at that, but there was a sort of flickering quality of wildness to him that Laurence knew not even decades at sea would tame.

There was also a difference in the physical aspects of the bending. Laurence had already started to become naturally fluid the way all Navy waterbenders were, his hands often gliding rather than striking even when he held a sword or a pistol – and the more he learned of the motions of waterbending, the weaving and stirring, the waving and flowing of the body that directed the element, the more fluid he became. Mr. Carver, on the other hand, was less fluid and more weightless in nature: he walked silently, and weaved around people like a dancer; and the way he jumped made it seem like he was almost superhuman, the way he could go from the deck to the topgallants in a matter of seconds; often he looked like he was about to be swept away by the wind.

"Airbending isn't much like waterbending," Mr. Carver confided to Laurence when he asked about it. "It isn't subjected to as many rules: there is no gravity or flow to hold it back, and it isn't as much harnessing the element as it is about letting the element go where it wills. But air doesn't change as much as water, though it can go everywhere, and bending it is about finding where it goes the easiest."

Which made rather little sense to Laurence – it certainly didn't look like Mr. Carver had any troubles harnessing the element and bending it to his will. Airbending seemed often easier than waterbending, with Mr. Carver being able to wring more power out of a gust than Laurence could from a wave.

He wondered, though, whether Mr. Carver longed for the sky as much as Laurence had for the sea. The Lieutenant certainly had a queer expression to his face whenever he saw a dragon fly overhead. Laurence never dared to ask the man why he’d gone to the sea rather than to the air, though. Benders or not, there were some things one simply didn't ask.

3.

For a foundered ship, there was nothing quite as important as a skilled waterbender. When the Normandy ran into a reef, it took all three lieutenants on board to keep the ship from sinking, keeping the water out from the breached hull long enough for the cracks to be tightly frozen.

Laurence could hardly remember a more tiring and taxing time than those weeks spent ankle deep in frozen bilge water, keeping those frozen patches secure and the water from getting in. And between the first lieutenant, Laurence, and the third lieutenant, they had to work in twelve hour watches in the bilge so that there was always two of them present, while the carpenters worked at the hopeless task of patching the holes.

He grew very fond of the third lieutenant, Tom Riley, who, while not quite as powerful a bender as Laurence, had the talent of commanding frozen and liquid water at the same time, thus keeping both their feet dry while holding the ice. Captain Yarrow, however, did not endear himself to any of them in the slightest, being only a mediocre bender at best and unwilling to relieve any of his three lieutenants in the bilge. And the first lieutenant wasn't much better, being ill often and shirking his duties in the bilge once the worst danger was over, leaving Laurence and Riley to mind the breaches together.

Laurence had never been quite so glad to find that they were approaching Rio and to have the task done with. Later, he considered it one of his greatest accomplishments. And indeed, he got a merit for it.

4.

Even after spending ten years at sea, Laurence didn’t come into much contact with benders other than those of water and the few of air in the service. There were no firebending bloodlines in Britain, and on the sea there wasn't much call for earthbenders, who were more common in the army. He did see the effects of their efforts from afar, most notably in battles – and most memorably in the Battle of the Nile.

The Turks had firebenders, and they had the habit of manning their firebreathing dragons with firebending crews, bringing forth an extremely deadly combination of not only powerful gusts of flames, but deadly precision in that fire's control. Laurence was often glad that he’d not been a child anymore, on that glorious, horrifying day when he and those on board the Goliath had watched the ferocious blaze of those firebreathers and benders, on their side thank heavens, attacking their enemies. When the Orient had blown up, it had been a blaze of light only slightly brighter than that of the Kazilisks and their crews, ferocious and fiery enough to light the sky.

He’d never quite appreciated the safety and security of being a waterbender until that point, at the sight of the Orient being so destroyed. Of course, in such a blaze, there was little even a dozen waterbenders could do to stop the fire from reaching the powder kegs. But fire to the sails, to some small part of the ship – in the galley, for example – was quite controllable for a waterbender, and a simple affair to handle; and where without a waterbender such fire could be as lethal to a ship as the Kazilisk had been to the Orient.

It haunted him for weeks and for months afterwards, even when he got his medal and merit and the promise of a command over a brig or a sloop. He suffered terribly from the nightmares that followed. Water and fire were of course opposing forces and it was natural for him to shy from what was so completely against his very nature. But dreams of flames, of heat, of everything burning about him and not a drop of water near to put it out… They were stronger than he’d thought, and they persisted.

It almost made him glad that there were no firebenders in Britain. Almost.

 But, sadly, he knew the truth. Unlike earthbending that was forever bound to the ground, waterbending that was equally chained to the sea, and airbending that, after all was said and done, needed a platform to launch from, firebending worked everywhere. The French had firebenders in all their branches of military: from army to navy to the aerial corps and beyond – and they made deadly, skillful use of them. A firebender was not held back by the lack of an element, but could produce it everywhere. And often they did.

Britain would've wept for a firebending bloodline. Often had, in fact. The lamentations about a lack of such bloodlines had been going on for the better part of four hundred years.

But still…

5. 

The Amitié's capture had been nothing out of the ordinary, except for the seemingly disreputable behaviour of the French captain – until the discovery of the egg in the hold. But even then, the events don't take their drastic course before the ship's surgeon had the time to take a look at the egg and pronounce it ready to hatch in a week – when they were three weeks away from Madeira and there was no way to speed things up, even with all the ship's waterbenders and its only, still half-trained, airbender at work.

A large, prize specimen of a dragon's egg, about to hatch on-board his ship. In his nearly twenty years of service and six years of post-captaincy, Laurence had never quite experienced this sort of dilemma. He knew what to do with any weather the seas could throw at him, and all the disasters a ship could encounter – but a dragon's egg, about to hatch? He would've better known what to do with a hostile firebender running rampage on-board his ship than that.

"Pass the word for Mr. Carver," he finally said, and waited until the young midshipman had made his appearance in the cabin. Laurence regarded him grimly and sadly. He’d taken the boy under his wing at the request of Mr. Carver the Senior, to whom he had promised to teach the boy all the ways of the sea before the boy could be swept off to a second or third rate, and to service more rigorous than that on-board a sixth rate like the Reliant. What he was about to do grieved him, but there was no way about it – Carver was the only airbender they had.

"You might be aware that we found a dragon egg on-board the prize?" he started, and the boy's expression brightened a bit. Laurence spoke, before the boy could pipe out his congratulations, like so many hands and officers already had. "I am sorry, Mr. Carver, there is no gentle way to go about this. The Amitié must've expected to make landfall over a month ago, and the delay has made the situation concerning the egg very urgent. It is about to hatch."

Instantly, the boy went pale, understanding the underlying message. Laurence said nothing, just regarded the boy seriously. Jonathan Carver was the only airbender he’d ever met with a bad head for heights, but then the boy was a weak airbender at best, and even on a good day could only barely raise a breeze, not to mention the sort of theatrics only his father could have preciously manage. But that made no difference. The dragon was most likely one of the larger breeds judging by the sheer size of the egg alone, and thus invaluable to Britain. The attempt of harnessing must be made, and dragons in Britain were always captained by airbenders.

"I wish there was another way to go about it, Mr. Carver, but the circumstances are what they are, and there is no changing them. And we must make an attempt to harness the beast, no matter the personal loss," Laurence said finally, when the boy didn't manage to get a word out. "You will be relieved of your duties until the hatching, and you may rest assured that the ship's company will do everything to aid you in your task until Madeira. And as Mr. Pollitt has some expertise in the matter, you will consult him," he added, but it could hardly soften the blow.

"Yes, sir," the boy said, despairing. And with a heavy heart, Laurence dismissed him.

The egg started to show signs of hatching almost precisely a week later, and Laurence had it brought on deck. The whole of the ship's company was watching as Carver, shaking slightly and clutching onto the make-shift harness like a lifeline, stepped forward while the egg rocked and shuddered before it finally cracked open to reveal the sinuous black creature, which spread its wings and fastidiously picked at the pieces of eggshell still clinging to its hide.

It seemed like a straightforward, even if a miserable matter, as Carver stepped forward to try and speak to the creature – except for the fact that the dragon paid no attention to him whatsoever. Carver's further attempts met with no more interest as the dragon wandered about the deck, examining everything it encountered. And even when Carver, at Mr. Pollitt's suggestion, displayed some rather feeble airbending at the creature, it was met with nothing more than a shudder of the dragon's wings, and complete indifference.

Laurence was full of dismay and sorrow – and guilty relief for Carver, who would be saved from such a difficult, arduous life – when the dragon finally came to him and examined him with its curious, deep blue gaze. Later, he could recall very little of what he had been thinking. Indeed, he couldn't have accounted for his reaction even if held at gunpoint. For when the dragon addressed him, asking why he was frowning, Laurence answered.

He had named the dragon _Temeraire_ after the magnificent French vessel before he even realised what he was about. And, after, the indignant utterances of "but I am a _water_ bender!" counted for naught.

6.

Were it only Temeraire, Laurence knew he wouldn't have minded service in the Aerial Corps in the slightest. Temeraire was an intelligent creature and great company – and to his delight, Laurence had found him to be also a great conversationalist, which took away some of the sting of losing his career and command so suddenly. But it wasn't only Temeraire he had to contend with.

Each and every aviator he encountered was dead set against him. From the first amiable Captain James, who heard his accounting of the egg's capture and then of his harnessing of Temeraire, to Captain Portland who, in extremely disagreeable terms, informed him that "he had done a singular service to the Corps, but he wouldn't need to continue it", and then presented one Lieutenant Dayes who was there to relieve him.

It had been with some extremely mixed feelings that Laurence had acquiesced to that. He saw the sense in it – he was a Navy captain and a waterbender at that, and as such had very little to offer to the Aerial Corps except ignorance and no doubt ill-suited training. And however could've he managed in the air, at any rate? His head for heights was, admittedly, better than that of poor Jonathan Carver, but he was still a waterbender – whatever would've he done, were he to fall? And what use was a waterbender in an aerial battle?

And yet… in the short time he had known Temeraire, he had grown increasingly fond of the dragon – and Temeraire didn't care one jot for his bending, one way or another, except to lament that he too would like to know bending of some kind. To lose Temeraire was a harder pill to swallow than Laurence had expected, after having personally lamented the ruin of his career and life not that long before.

He had never been so relieved than he was when word had been sent to him, and he met Portland to find that Temeraire had refused another handler and that he was to go to him at once, and appease him. Laurence was so glad that he very nearly missed Lieutenant Dayes' highly insulting remarks of "Imperial, at the hands of an untrained Navy codpole and a pissbender at that!" but not quite.

The relief of making his way back to Temeraire's side, and finding the dragon ruffled by the concept of exchanging him did much to soothe Laurence's own ruffled feathers. Even if the lies Dayes had told Temeraire very nearly sent him to a renewed rage, and made him wish dearly that he could challenge the man to a duel – and one of pistols at that, rather than of bending.

"He said that waterbenders don't like the air," Temeraire said to him, curling tightly about him while Laurence hugged his dear dragon's neck as tightly as he may. "That you would much rather be at sea, where you are in your element."

"No, no my dear," Laurence assured, stroking the dragon’s snout gently. "I am of the sea, to be sure, but I would not leave you for all of the world's oceans."

But it was only the start of it, and he knew he would face much worse than this, before everything would, hopefully, settle. Even with Portland's begrudging approval, he was still a waterbender and a waterbender he would remain – and every airbender in the Aerial Corps would likely distain him for it, for his Navy history, and for anything else they could think of. The rivalries between His Majesty's military branches ran high, especially so between benders – even the Navy airbenders weren't quite exempt from that. And he, the only waterbender in a service of airbenders, all of them as flighty as airbenders were likely to be, would be at a serious disadvantage.

But he swore to face it with as much equanimity as he could manage and hold strong. Whatever else he was, he was now Temeraire's Captain. And that, he thought a little desperately, might be an even greater thing than to be a bender at all.

7.

Loch Laggan wasn't quite as bad as he’d supposed – but in other ways, it was much worse. The aviators and airbenders there had had some time to get used to the notion, having been warned of his arrival ahead of time, but there were still some sideway looks and mutters about tea kettles and being wet behind the ears and whatnot. That, however, wasn't quite as hard to handle as the other things, not quite _offensive_ , but… difficult to come to terms with.

"Well, it is only a habit that has airbenders as dragon captains," Celeritas, the training master – and a _dragon_ – said rather amiably after Laurence had, somewhat stiffly, introduced himself. "In the Ottoman Empire, it is common to have a firebender captain a dragon rather than an airbender, and the French are adopting that habit as well. And of course, in North America they often have non-benders captaining dragons. So it is not quite as unheard of as all that. However, it will produce some difficulties."

Namely, difficulties as far as manoeuvres went, and common security. Use of gliders was common practice in the Aerial Corps, after all. And when put under threat, dragon captains would often just jump down from their dragons’ backs, to fly out of reach. Laurence, being unable to bend the wind to his will and being more likely to drop like a stone, glider or no, naturally couldn't do that. It was a cause of fresh concern, the concept that he'd be an unusually easy captain to capture on dragon-back, but not as bad as the fact that he couldn't raise the wind to support Temeraire's flight, or to speed him up. And as far as fighting on dragon-back went… he'd be wholly useless.

"Except if I carry my water with me, of course," Laurence amended later to Temeraire, but there were difficulties with that as well. Laurence was a navy waterbender and used to manipulating vast quantities of water, rather than the delicate work of masterfully whipping and slicing with a single gallon the way some waterbenders could. "I suppose I will have to learn, as much as you my dear," he admitted and together they set out to design a system that, once Temeraire's harness was finished, would allow the easy attachment of any number of water casks to Temeraire's person.

But there were the aviators too, and despite their preparedness and willingness to forgive him for his bending, there was still reserve there – vast quantities of it. There were a lot of sidelong looks and muttered words, whispers behind open palms and, as in the case of Lieutenant Granby, near open hostility. For a long while, one Jeremy Rankin was Laurence's only amiable companion, coming from a good family and having better manners than most aviators and not caring about Laurence's history as much as most – but it was company that came eventually at a dreadful price to his pride.

However, for all the difficulties of his new service, and all the amendments Laurence had to make to his habits, there were some things he would not forsake. One of them, which was the cause of much muttering among the aviators, was Temeraire's bathing. While at sea and during the time spent in Madeira, he and Temeraire had gotten into the habit of bathing – or rather, Laurence bathing Temeraire via the use of his waterbending. And no matter how the aviators muttered about washouts and him showing off, it was a delight he wouldn't give up.

Indeed, he was exceedingly grateful for the Loch Laggan lake, which made it much easier for him to accustom to the land-bound life of the covert. Washing Temeraire was a delightful way of indulging himself in his familiar, natural element – to raise the water into sprouts to wash over his dragon's back much to Temeraire's pleasure, and to walk over the waves in bridges of ice that he created without much thought.

The only ones who appreciated these shows of watermastery were the cadets who, unlike the older members of the service, were more accustomed to their own ways, and were delighted in the display. Often, they offered to help. And when Laurence prudently had them stay on the shore, for the water was cold and the currents he created dangerous, he and Temeraire could hear them cheering in appreciation from the waterline.

"It must be something, to be able to make ice like that from liquid water," Roland, who Laurence was already considering as a runner, said excitedly while she and the other cadets did what Laurence could not, and bent the wind into a warm breeze to dry Temeraire quicker than rags or towels could. "Sir, is it true that waterbenders can bend freshwater out of saltwater?"

"Only during the full moon, Mr. Roland," Laurence admitted. And very few could do it even then, the process being slightly more difficult than merely lifting a fog – water vapour was rather difficult to control. But the memory of all the times he’d been forced to stay up late into the night, waiting for the moon so that he could fill the ship's water casks with clean, drinkable water caused a slight pang of homesickness and he turned away sharply.

His gratitude for Rankin's presence and company turned into dismay when he found out the flipside of the other man's ways, and that where Rankin could be calmly amiable and polite to men and women, aviators and sailors both, it did not extend to dragon kind. Laurence, who had grown exceedingly fond of Temeraire, received the knowledge of Rankin's abuse of his own, poor Winchester with dismay and despair, unable to understand and, after his first attempts, unable to help either.

How an airbender could treat a dragon, a kin to his own element, in such a way was beyond him. But then, Laurence had known captains who could abuse their ships with equal or worse vigour so perhaps it wasn't quite as strange as all that. And yet… a dragon was a thinking, feeling creature. Often quite wise as well.

"I suppose I still have much to learn about the Aviator society and its ways," he mused sadly, and vowed never to treat Temeraire so.

8.

The true shift that made Laurence finally leave behind the Navy and fully embrace the Aerial Corps happened when a dragon from Edinburgh was injured, and the bigger dragons of Loch Laggan were called to assist in its transport to the covert for treatment. Victoriatus was a big Parnassian, very nearly a heavyweight like Temeraire and his much bigger formation mate, Maximus, and the effort of transporting him was grave. It cost Temeraire a bloodletting and Laurence several sleepless nights.

But what changed things wasn't so much the helping of the dragon in general, but Laurence's conduct during the ordeal – and his rather foolish but absolutely necessary unharnessed climb to repair a severed strap on Temeraire's harness which, if left as it was, would've risked the whole of Temeraire's temporary crew. Laurence supposed that before that point, none of those who’d served on board Temeraire in their temporary stints had truly grasped the risk of having a non-airbender as a captain. But when the risk did assert itself, the reaction was immediate. When Laurence had slipped and nearly fallen off, it was Lieutenant Granby who’d saved him with his quick action – him, and Victoriatus as well, whom Temeraire would've surely dropped to save Laurence.

Though, perhaps the wanton way that Laurence had stayed at Temeraire's side, day and night during his recovery, had a part in it – and he had stayed, damn the weather and the bloody ruin of his clothing, until he’d known for sure that the wounds Victoriatus had unintentionally inflicted on Temeraire would heal. He had stayed until Lieutenant Granby, his manner quite changed from before, had come to fetch him and send him to bed.

After that, the looks of dismay directed at him turned into something else. A mix of acceptance and odd concern, especially on the part of those who’d been on board for the brief but striking action. It was odd and rather embarrassing to realise, but all of a sudden, the people around him were not only concerned for his helplessness in the air – but were protective of him.

Especially Granby, whom Laurence, after some consideration, chose to be his first lieutenant. For all the man's difficulties with him in the beginning, the lieutenant was capable and experienced, having served with many dragons and seen much of the service, and Laurence quite appreciated it. What he did not appreciate was the cosseting Granby and the ground crew master and the rest of his officers, once he chose them, tried to put forth.

"No, damn you all, I will not wear double harness straps," he answered. "I might not be able to fly, but I will be damned before I chain myself down either."

It didn't help that Temeraire was quite of like mind with the crew, and would've chained Laurence to his harness, just in case, if he got the chance. Laurence was very nearly starting to despair that he would have to challenge someone into a bending match to prove himself capable of taking care of himself, before they would stop putting forth their absurd notions.

Thankfully, their training ended and duties began before things got too bad. They were transferred to Dover, sent there to patrol the channel.

9.

Laurence had never seen a bender executed. Even in the Navy, where there tended to be three waterbenders or more to each ship, they were treated with a sort of care that showed the true worth and rarity of their abilities. And he’d never heard of an airbender suffering such a fate, not even in the Aerial Corps where they were much more common than in the Navy, where they tended to be forgiven for everything but treason.

But it wasn't so much the fact that Choiseul was a bender as that he was a dragon captain that struck him – and the way it struck Temeraire was even worse. Try as he might, Laurence couldn't get Praecursoris' horrible wailing and keening from his mind. And even hours later, Temeraire was given to shiver and shudder and hold him as close as he ever could.

Of course, Choiseul was a traitor and murderer besides, and yet… there was something very horrible about the whole affair, something that struck at the heart in a way that no other execution Laurence ever witnessed had.

"Of course it's horrible," Berkley said, after having delivered Maximus and Lily to their clearing to seek solace in Temeraire's company, and very nearly carried poor Catherine Harcourt in himself – she was taking it the worst of all, having been intimate with Choiseul. "Even nowadays when people know what bending is really all about, it's not like we benders are thick on the ground. But you're sorry on account of the dragon, rather than the man, bender though he might've been."

Which was true enough. But the thought still lingered. And when, some days later, the threat of aerial invasion suddenly came upon them, delivered on the dying wings of poor Levitas, the memory hurt still more. To know that there had been a purpose beyond what Choiseul had done, that there was a genius behind it – working and using the man and his dragon as his tools of conquest…

Then there was little time to think of anything but to prepare. Whatever had been done and however it had been done, it had been done brilliantly. The forces at Dover were weakened: with a Longwing formation sent away, a freedom purchased at the price of the Battle of Trafalgar, a defeat to the French and bloodbath to the British, they were not quite capable of as much as they would've liked. With the force of French dragons and their genius new method of carrying transports, on dragon-back rather than over water… Their chances were not as good as they could've been.

But there was no helping it. All they could do was prepare and wait and watch as keenly as they ever might. The French might or might not wait for the wind to favour them: having more airbenders in their aerial forces than Britain did, they always had the wind on their side. But if Napoleon intended to save their fighting strength for the actual battle, then there was perhaps time yet.

"We are outnumbered, are we not, Laurence?" Temeraire asked quietly, after another day spent in patrol and preparation.

"Quite outnumbered, my dear," Laurence admitted, voice low. Both in dragons and benders, for there would surely be firebenders to meet them, when the time came. When the battle occurred, it would be difficult. "But we have been outnumbered before and still won the day. So do not let yourself be disheartened."

"Oh, I am not," Temeraire said almost flippantly. "It is only the men. They seem so concerned."

Laurence nodded and said nothing, only checked that Temeraire's harness was quite secure, before stepping back.

They’d seen action before, on their way from Loch Laggan to Dover: a miserable skirmish, most likely arranged by Choiseul. But this would be different. They would need every advantage they could muster for this, if they were to have any hope of winning. Frowning, he looked up to the sky, knowing without needing to see the moon that it was only half full and waning. No help there, not for him – yet better than a new moon, certainly.

Perhaps it was time he bought himself the sort of flasks favoured by waterbenders who often saw one-on-one battle. Anything could happen to the casks Temeraire carried for him, and he would need every drop he could get.

10.

To see airbenders, so many airbenders, in action was as amazing as it was terrifying. What little airbending Laurence had seen in his life had been that of necessity, or of play: calling a wind on a calm day and using air to one's advantage. But in air, in their element, and in a deadly, desperate clash of forces, there was a horrifying quality to the razor sharp winds and blasts of air exchanged between dragon crews. To see how they cut the dragons, their harnesses, their people – opening wounds seemingly without any actual impact…

But there was little time to watch. And as it were, Laurence was too busy holding his water as Temeraire flew, ready to attack. The first time he did, they had the element of surprise on their side – even in France, there had never been a waterbender on a dragon crew – and he lashed out at one of the transports: not to sever the carrier from its burdens, but to soak the side of the awkward, lumbering hulk of a vessel, to seep the water into the gaps between planking, where in water-going vessels there would've been oakum and tar to keep such threats away. And then –

The sound was deafening and echoing, as the wood blistered and cracked, the water freezing at the command of Laurence's bending – freezing and expanding and forcing the wood to separate. Laurence was momentarily grateful that he was used to bending while in the air, now, and to the motion of Temeraire's wing-beats – one wrong move could've ruined the attack, and he needed all the fluidity he could manage, to take the water where he needed it.

But the attack was brief, and they were forced away from the transport before he could finish it, leaving the transport's structure much weakened, but not ruined. Cursing, Laurence took a stance and with a swift move broke apart yet another water cask, to bring the floating mass to him in preparation of another attack, if only they got the chance.

"Sir," Granby said at his side, his glider ready and a number of airbenders behind him, preparing for a jump. "Permission to take wing."

Laurence glanced at him with dismay. On a glider, an airbender had a greater freedom to work his craft and to board an enemy dragon if the occasion permitted. But they were so vulnerable that way. It only took one stray blast of wind to ruin a glider, and even the best airbenders could not fly without their wings. And yet, he couldn't say no – it was a common tactic in aerial warfare, for airbenders to detach themselves momentarily from their dragons just for that greater freedom, and for wider attacks.

"Godspeed, Mr. Granby," he said instead, nodding his assent. And then they were off, dropping from Temeraire's back first like stones, and then in graceful arches coming up, their glider wings spread and the wind and air at their command. Wishing them all the fair winds in the world, Laurence turned to the task at hand.

But try as he might – as all they might – there was so very little they could do. The troop carriers were all protected by airbenders and firebenders both, and after Laurence's first successful pass they would not let them near – nor did they let any other dragon near. And for every dragon carrying such a carrier that they managed to detach, another instantly replaced it, with no end in sight.

Somewhat desperate, Laurence bent the water at his command into disks and staves, hurling them at every opponent such an attack could reach. Few of them hit, and it was not quite like with a sailing vessel, where such an attack could easily sever sails and ropes and wound men. Dragon skin and harness were made of sturdier stuff, and their protective armour was even more so. At best Laurence could damage their wings, which was a horrible, sly sort of attack to make.

And then the shore of England was in sight, the sound of waves crashing upon its rocks echoing in their ears. And try as they might, they could not prevent the first transport from landing, and then another. And for all that they were met with a militia and even some earthbenders on the land, the transport carried more earthbenders still, and even from a distance Laurence saw how quickly the earthen fortifications came up, how easily the trenches were dug.

"We cannot succeed, can we?" Temeraire asked, voice low. And as much as Laurence reassured that there was still something they could do – if they could force the remaining transports to slow and land one at a time rather than in masse, there still might be a chance… it rang hollow.

But Temeraire was not a creature to give in, not that easily, and neither was Laurence. With the last of his water casks opened, they rose, Temeraire drawing an enormous, swelling breath.

What followed was not airbending, not by far – it wasn't as much force, the attack that Temeraire unleashed, as it was sound. But there was still a force of air in that roar, and the impact of it was certainly visible. The transport it impacted shuddered and burst open, dry planks giving away, spilling men even as the dragons carrying it keened in agony. And on top of that, Laurence's own attack of ice had been swept in by the force. And with something like wonder, he saw that the spikes had gone through the transport, even through one poor dragon who was now deadweight at the transport's beam, dragging it further down.

And thus, with a roar and ice, the course of battle was wholly altered.

 

 ∞

 

Laurence opened his eyes and breathed in, feeling the power swelling in his veins. Even in the darkened tent, smelling of leather, sweat, and sand, he could feel the ancient call that had forever moved waterbenders, which even now had him quickly pulling his coat on and sliding out of the tent to the clearing outside, to meet the darkness, the stars, and the full moon.

How strange it was that even here, in this horrible, wrecking heat and dryness of the Taklamakan desert, the moon could still move and empower him so.

Glancing at the camp around him and at his second lieutenant who had watch, Laurence smoothly stepped into the shadows and then beyond the camp – glancing at and seeing that Temeraire was quite comfortable and asleep – before he moved fully into the moonlight, to welcome and receive the ancient power that strengthened him beyond what he normally was capable. For a long moment he merely stood there in the sand, watching the moon, before letting his body finally accept and move.

He could feel it – not only the power, but the water in the desert. What had seemed before to be non-existent now resonated all around him: the smallest hints of moisture on surface where night had cooled the top layers of the sand and then moistened them with some vague amount of dew that will have all evaporated by morning. As easy as breathing, he shifted and flowed, and called the water to him, making it rise from the sand in mist and fog and then condensing it into droplets that shone in the moonlight all around him.

The water he had miraculously managed to evoke from the dry, dry desert had been gathered into a flowing body that moved with him and around him, when a sound from behind him called for his attention. Glancing over his shoulder without letting the water go, he saw Tharkay standing in the shadows, arms folded and silently watching.

"Good evening, Mr. Tharkay," Laurence said, and then concentrated on finishing his pattern of movement, wrenching away the last of the moisture from the ground around him, beneath him, before stopping. He had somehow managed to pull up as much as a couple of gallons of water from the ground, and even now he could feel the resonance of more. There was a current somewhere nearby, an underground river that even in this horrible place still flowed, full and free.

"It must be quite something, to be able to pull water from thin air even in this desert," Tharkay remarked, as Laurence refilled his bending water with what he had called, filling the two flasks at his belt.

"Not quite as useful as building a shelter from sand," Laurence answered, glancing at the earthbender who answered that with a crooked, wry smile and a nod of his head. Even if one of the shelters Tharkay had built from sand had given in during the sandstorm, it was still an impressive feat – to see the man manipulating sand, something very few earthbenders could do. Even if Laurence still couldn't quite control his suspicions about the earthbender, he had to respect the mastery and the power at the man's command.

"Is it true that waterbenders feel the phases of the moon?" Tharkay asked idly, as Laurence stepped back to the shelter of the tents.

"Yes," Laurence answered, glancing up once more. Before he had been moved by the oceans and seas of the world, he had been under the whims of the moon. Even as a child, he had been happiest when it was full and sullen and quiet when it was dark. Some called it a weakness, to be so bound to its phases, and how useful it would be if waterbenders were always as strong as they were during the full moon, but… water was the element of chance, and he wouldn't have changed the tide for all the power in the world.

Shaking his head, Laurence glanced at the earthbender, wondering. "I suppose the seasons do not much affect your craft, Mr. Tharkay."

"No, they do not," the man said, and clenched his hand into a fist, making a jerking motion – condensing a measure of sand into a rock at his feet, and lifting it into the air, and to his hand. Not for the first time, Laurence was struck by how Tharkay, all smoothness in speech and manner, controlled his element in such forceful, sharp moves. "But I admit there’s always a measure of difference, when it comes to the earth. Even I cannot truly turn sand into solid stone," the guide said, and crushed the sand-made stone with his fingers, as if it was nothing but dry mud.

Watching the lumps of sand fall, Laurence frowned and then glanced up at the moon again. "Well," he said, "There is still much distance for us to cross. Perhaps it would be better for us to resume our rest."

"Perhaps," Tharkay answered, but didn't move until Laurence had already walked past him to his tent. He was the only waterbender in that godforsaken desert and among the camp.

Not that he minded it anymore, these days. There was a certain advantage to being a waterbender – especially in a desert, he mused as he laid back down. He did not like to even think about how much more arduous the crossing would have been, had he not been able to transform their meagre water rations into ice, to better quench the constant thirst – or if he had not been able to pull more water from the nearly dried wells to fill their casks anew.

Even if he was a waterbender forced away from his element and into the air, there was something to be said about the benefits of waterbending.

 


End file.
